“He chose me,” Christi said, flat blue gaze fixed on the fry basket. “He chose me.”

None of them spoke.

“I screamed at one point. Not that it mattered. I mean, it’s just a unit full of convicted offenders and a lone corrections officer who didn’t give a flying fuck. At one point, I heard the other girls making a fuss. Whacking shoes, books, toothbrushes against the bars. Prison protest. But the cameras can’t do justice to that. So Frankie stayed. He did everything he wanted to do. Again and again and again. Must’ve taken Viagra ahead of time, the goddamn son of a . . . Not a thing I could do about it. When he was done, he put on his clothes, zipped up his pants and handed me a travel-size bottle of shampoo. You know, like from the Holiday Inn. He fucked my . . . And that’s what I got. Cheap motel shampoo.

“I didn’t get up the next day. Couldn’t even walk. But Richie had already left a note that I’d ‘worn myself out’ causing a ruckus the night before. Day officer didn’t even bother to check in on me. They’re all in cahoots, you know. We’re the inmates, but they’re the monsters.”

D.D. didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Frankie was on the next night. Left me alone. Went after one of the new girls instead. She cried. Poor stupid thing. Cried and screamed and cried some more. I didn’t care. That’s what it’s like. If he’s not fucking me, then I’m down with it. I get a night off, hallelujah, praise the Lord. But we’re not animals, you know.”

The woman looked up sharply, her hands skittering across the table. “It’s just, you get treated like one long enough . . .

“Frankie had Friday night off. We all knew it. Waited on pins and needles. The whole unit. Because we knew he was coming. He was our devil, our curse, and sure enough, ten P.M., he sauntered onto the floor. Blue jeans, a Red Sox sweatshirt. And I fucking liked the Red Sox! Then he looked straight at me and grinned. Like it was something special to be his date. Like the fucking new girl wasn’t still bleeding from both ends after what he’d done to her.

“He came over. What the hell was I gonna do? What was, was. Then . . .”